


With a Little Help....

by amaruuk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9555905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaruuk/pseuds/amaruuk
Summary: Thor steps in to help Steve and Tony have a necessary conversation. A little wish fulfillment piece for how things might have gone post-Captain America: Civil War.





	

         It came to him over the thud of his footsteps and the rasp of his breathing: a whirring sound, like rhythmically rushing wind. It grew louder as it came nearer. And it was a sound he knew.

          Steve slowed to a stop, a palm raised against the weak sun to shade his eyes. Fittingly for the demi-god he was, Thor appeared amidst a halo of diffused sunlight, hair and cape streaming behind him as he slowed the spinning of his hammer and lowered himself to the ground.

          "Thor!" Steve greeted.

          Hefting the hammer, Thor gave him a slow nod. His usually open mien was somewhat clouded, his expression one that Steve could not interpret.

          Thor lowered the hammer to his side, his shoulders relaxed. Unaware that a thread of tension had snugged tight his every muscle, Steve reminded himself that this was a man he trusted. He blew out a sharp breath and smiled. "Good to see you." He stepped forward and clasped Thor's forearm. "Could have used your help recently."

          Thor stood quietly under his touch. "Are you so certain I would have served on your side?"

          Steve flinched, just a little. Thor's question gave him pause. He was miles away from the compound, alone, his shield in his room, and he had no doubt how a free-for-all with Thor might play out. Nevertheless, he gave that muscled arm a squeeze and said, "Yes?"

          Thor grinned and returned Steve's clasp. "You are right, my friend. I am not fond of being told what to do by others. And your United Nations strikes me as dangerously provincial."

          "That makes two of us. Just wish I could convince Tony." Steve cocked his head to one side. "Are you all right? You look—you look tired."

          Thor responded with a sigh. "Things have been...fraught on my world. Family...."

          "Loki?"

          The sigh deepened. "Loki," he agreed.

          "Family," Steve said with wry sympathy. He thought of his own family—the members of his team and a few others like Nick Fury and Peggy's niece Sharon; and his currently estranged family—Tony, Rhodes. He wasn't sure where to place Vision; maybe in time. T'Challa was becoming a good friend. He felt the weight of his thoughts, and when he raised his head he saw his own mixed feelings in Thor's face.

          "Family," Thor intoned.

          "Sorry to hear it." He couldn't really imagine what it was like for Thor, having to deal with the homicidal creature that was Thor's maniacally ambitious half brother. "Given that you're here, is everything under control?"

          "No." Thor raised the hammer and slapped it against his palm. "I have been watching. That is, Heimdall has been watching and reporting to me. Things do not go well here just now."

          Steve exhaled sharply. "I've tried. I can't make him talk to me."

          "You do know that he's been providing aid?"

          Steve's brows went up. "Aid? Tony? How?"

          "Your assault on the water prison. Did you not find it surprisingly easy getting in and overpowering the guards?"

          Steve's brows went even higher. "Seriously?" In his mind he played back flying to the Raft, breaching its defenses, disabling security and personnel, freeing his people, and then spiriting them safely away. "You consider that _easy_?"

          "That was Stark technology. He dropped the security level shortly after the prisoners arrived." Thor smiled benignly. "You must talk to him."

          "I'd love to," Steve said, a bit of starch in his voice. "I gave him a phone. He hasn't used it."

          "Such discussions are better face to face." He stretched out his free hand. "Come."

          Steve fell back a step, his fingers itching for his shield. "Come where?"

          "Not far."

          "You're telling me Tony is _here_?"

          "Nearby. I haven't much time, Steve." His hand did not move, not even a pulse-stirred micron. After a brief internal struggle—because, really, he did trust this man; and, yes, he really did want to talk to Tony—Steve said, "Okay," and grabbed Thor's wrist. He allowed himself to be pulled in close to Thor's body, even as the other man began to spin his hammer impossibly fast. They rose swiftly into the air and angled westward, even farther away from the small complex where Steve and his fellow "criminals" had been given residences, toward the hills and the mist-shrouded jungles. Despite his misgivings, Steve thrilled at this opportunity of flight. Thor carried them only a few feet above the trees, which in some ways was even more magical than the perspective he was accustomed to. So close to the ground, yet so safely above it.

          They had not gone far, no more than a mile, when they reached a very small clearing—one that had quite obviously been made recently. Perhaps even within the last couple of hours, Steve thought. Thor took them down quite suddenly—Steve's stomach remained several feet above the rest of him even as his feet touched ground—ground that showed traces of Asgardian travel. Thor casually steadied him while Steve regained his balance. "There," Thor said and gestured up toward a netted bundle hanging suspended high above them.

          Steve left off taking in his surroundings and looked up. His mouth fell open. "Tony?"

          "Fuck you both," Tony's voice came calmly from within the depths of a strongly corded trap. "Now get me down from here."

          Looking back at Thor, Steve began, "Did you put him—?"

          The other man pointed toward a dark shape beneath the trees, some distance away. "His craft is there. He has been observing you and your team for a while." He set Mjölnir in motion again. "I suggest you determine his purpose and why he has not revealed himself to you."

          "Right." Steve looked from the plane to Tony and back to Thor. He thrust out a hand. "Thank you." He grinned crookedly as Thor gripped his palm. "And good luck."

          "And you," Thor said, his expression equally mixed with hope and doubt. He lifted off the ground slowly, coming to pause at eye level with Tony. "You also. You have a chance to make things right. Do not waste it."

          Tony actually hissed. "And I say again, 'fuck you.'"

          Thor let out a shout of laughter. The hammer became a blur of movement, the rushing sound filling the clearing. Within seconds, he had disappeared from their sight.

          Rubbing his face with both hands, Steve remarked, "He's asking a lot, isn't he?"

          A kind of gargling noise emitted from the netting. When he spoke, Tony's voice was icily controlled. "I've been up here for over an hour. Do you _know_ what lives in these trees?"

          "You were spying on us," Steve said. He turned slowly in place. The net hung from a large, thickly leafed branch; the rope attached to the net wound round the branch and then was tied off with an impressively complicated knot around the main body of the tree. He surveyed the ground beneath the leaves, walked its perimeter. He saw footprints that, in their storytelling, made him wince—though it appeared that Thor had been swift and reasonably humane in Tony's capture and imprisonment.

          "Not spying," Tony said, terse.

          There was nothing here that he could use. Steve tilted his head back and called up, "Can I get inside your plane?"

          "Go fu—"

          "I don't have anything with me. At a guess, you have something I can use. Your plane: oh, maybe two minutes away. My camp: ten, at least, there and back." Steve leaned farther back. He could just make out Tony's balled form through the small windows of the netting. It looked wretchedly small and uncomfortable. "Tony?"

          "Use your palm print, retinal scan, whatever," Tony muttered.

          "My palm print?"

          Defeatedly: "You're still in the system."

          Steve opened his mouth to speak, but immediately thought better of it, fully aware of everything that statement told him about Tony and Steve's place in his life. He found the shadow that identified the location of the plane and took off at a run toward it. It took him twenty seconds, and then another five seconds to gain entry.

          From amongst the many wonderful things with which Tony had outfitted the craft, Steve chose a lightweight cable of high-tensile strength and a machete with a blade sharp enough to cut steel. Either would serve, depending on the plan. There were other items, one of which caught and held his attention for a yearning few seconds. It would work as well. But he dismissed it with a twinge of regret as he gathered the rope and blade. And then he was through the door again, halting just long enough to ensure that the craft was sealed. The thick, humid air gave way as he finished the round trip. Not more than a minute and a half had passed.

          Tony let out a groan as Steve arrived. "Could you hurry? Please?"

          There was no mistaking the pain in that voice and it decided Steve's course of action. "Tony, roll over so you're on your back."

          "What? Why?"

          "Do it. You have five seconds."

          "Wait! I can hardly move in here."

          The sudden roiling motion of the netting, accompanied by voluble but unintelligible curses suggested a bag of angry badgers. Steve allowed him ten seconds, all the while eyeing the knot high up on the side of the tree, the distance from the bottom of the net to the ground, the weight and balance of the machete, and where precisely he needed to position himself.

          He raised the blade, his focus precise—and froze at a sudden high-pitched sound. "WAIT!" Tony roared. "No, no, no—!" A quick glimpse through the net showed him a single dark eye completely surrounded by white.

          The machete sliced into the thick rope above the knot and embedded itself in the bark of the tree. Before the sound of its impact cracked across his ears, Steve had already bolted from his starting point to brace himself beneath the net, his feet finding purchase in the newly formed ridges of the earth. Tony, hollering all the way, followed by the net and the whiptail end of the rope, came down all at once. Into Steve's arms.

          He took the brunt of that combined weight and unwieldy bundle, effectively breaking its fall but not quite keeping his feet. To protect his burden, he let the momentum carry him down and rolled onto his back. He lay for a moment gazing upward at the feathery green canopy, a small oculus of veiled blue directly overhead.

          "That was totally unnecessary," Tony protested, at high volume. "You had a rope. You could've—"

          "Hush," Steve said, his moment of recuperation apparently over. He wriggled out from under the mess of man and netting. "You're okay, right?"

          "I'll have my lawyers get back to you on that."

          Ignoring a stab of pain, Steve took to his knees and grabbed two handfuls of the netting. Muscles rippling, he wrenched it apart. Tony fell through, onto him, and they went down together. Again.

          "God," Tony exclaimed softly. He lifted his head off Steve's chest and rolled onto the ground alongside him.

          Steve took in a deep breath and sat up. "What are you doing here, Tony?"

          Staring up at the sky and trees, Tony shrugged. "Do I need a reason?"

          "You could've called."

          Tony laughed out loud. "Do you honestly think that substandard POS is secure?"

          Steve gave him a cool, considering look, while observing to himself that Tony looked thinner and the purpling under his eyes was pronounced. "So, you didn't want it known that you were talking to me. Which means you're trying to protect your back." His voice hardened, "Why are you here?”

          Tony bent his head just far enough so he could meet Steve's eyes. He said grimly, "Because clearly I'm an idiot."

          Steve's temper flared. "You couldn't have expected Thor to show up. You were watching us, planning a trap. You thought you'd sneak in and sneak out, then come back for a stealth removal so you wouldn't have to explain yourself to Wakandan authorities."

          Tony's mouth tightened into a thin line. Through gritted teeth, his voice came out a furious rasp. "You think you and your little band of rebels are worth that kind of effort?"

          "Are you trying to hurt my feelings?" Steve said with cold humor. "You're here, aren't you?"

          As agile as a monkey, Tony rolled forward, and pulled himself to his feet. Steve tensed, but once more, as with Thor, he was offered a helping hand. He made a face, but accepted Tony's grip, and allowed Tony to pull him up. Their hands broke apart immediately, and Tony started walking away. Watching him from under his brows, Steve began to limp after him.

          A very few minutes later, they arrived at a precipice of rock, mostly hidden by surrounding trees and undergrowth. After a quick examination of a particular tree and its branches overhead, Tony leaned back against it, waiting with strained patience for Steve to join him. "You can see the complex over there, just barely, through the mist." He pointed. "I've been coming here off and on for weeks. That stealth force you're talking about could have nailed your ass at any time. And yet here it is. Unnailed."

          "Tony." Steve said his name as if speaking to a fractious child. "Just explain."

          That brought a dark smile to Tony's face. He studied Steve from under his lashes. "Okey dokey." When he went on, his words were tight and toxic. "You didn't tell me about my parents because you were protecting your boyfriend."

          Not only was that not an explanation, it was a jarringly sideways and unexpected remark. Steve decided to roll with it, however, because in his experience that was the best way of dealing with Tony. "Not true."

          "Liar."

          Steve said with calm sincerity, "I told you, I didn't even know it was Bucky—" He raised a hand to forestall Tony's next interjection. "—until later."

          Tony stared into the distance, his usually animated features angrily contained. "Go on."

          "In Zola's bunker. I saw the report there. That your parents had been murdered, probably by someone called the Winter Soldier. I had no idea—then—who or what that was." Steve glanced around, not looking at Tony, all too aware of the hurt that radiated from him. "And then Natasha gave me a dossier from one of her old pals in Russia." He sighed. "I wish to God it had been somebody else, Tony. And I wish you hadn't seen that recording."

          "Tough for you."

          Steve waited until Tony looked at him again, until their eyes met and held. "It seemed to me that telling you they'd been murdered was unnecessarily cruel. When I knew who had done it—well, by then I couldn't find him. I'd pretty much given up on ever seeing him again." He rubbed at his aching knee with his left hand, idly noting an abrasion on his right palm. "Your suit. What if it was taken over, with you inside it?" He paused. "What if it killed some people? Out of your control."

          Tony growled. "Couldn't happen."

          "But what if?" Steve said forcefully. "It wouldn't be you. You'd never kill innocent people. That's true of Bucky, too. He would never knowingly murder inno—"

          "Yeah, I got it."

          Steve, who was still speaking, stumbled to a halt. "What?"

          "I'm over it, okay? It wasn't _really_ Bucky. Not that my parents are any less dead," he added peevishly.

          Hot emotion buzzed inside Steve's head. "You were going to _kill_ him! And me."

          "He pissed me off," Tony said venomously. "And there you were, choosing him over—" His chin came up and his lips formed a sharp line. "—us."

          Steve picked his words with care, "I had to protect him. I had no choice." Tony held his gaze for a moment and then abruptly looked away. Steve went on, with genuine contrition, "Like I told you in my letter, it was a mistake not telling you. Finding out like you did.... Well, I'm sorry. Really sorry, Tony."

          Tony closed his eyes, his face wreathed with misery. Above them, the branches rustled with the breeze. Birds called, some of them with haunting notes. Other things, invisible amidst the thick foliage, stirred as well. "I don't like him," Tony said at last, each word clearly enunciated. "Don't ever expect me to like him." Steve started to speak, but Tony stopped him with a look. "But—hate the sin, not the sinner. Right?"

          This pretty much the last thing Steve ever imagined hearing from Tony Stark, he was briefly at a loss. And then he chuckled, very softly. "That's hate the sin, _love_ the sinner. St Augustine."

          Tony twitched. "Gandhi said it the way I said it."

          Steve threw up his hands. "Close enough."

          Tony slumped back against the rough bark of the tree, head bowed, hands flat at his sides. "I hate you, Rogers."

          Fondness for this brilliant, complicated man unfurled deep inside him. "Sometimes I do, too." He leaned forward and said quietly, "I'm not happy about the situation. But I don't know if Vision is right, either. We have to help people when no one else can—or will." As he spoke, Tony's head came up and he began to regard Steve with a strange intensity, the same close concentration he gave a particularly intriguing problem. Needing to break that mesmerizing influence, Steve asked, "Why'd you help us?"

          Tony's face blanked. "Help you?"

          "I have it on good authority that you lowered the security on the Raft."

          Tony Stark was renowned for his inscrutability, but Steve could easily read the succession of thoughts that raced through his mind: denial, disavowal, concession. He gave Steve an industrial grade frown. In lieu of speech, he sighed with disgust.

          "You didn't have to do that," Steve remarked. "I would've gotten in eventually."

          Tony cocked a brow. "Trying to keep you from getting killed."

          "You'd have done it yourself a few weeks ago," Steve reminded him ruefully. "Tried to, even."

          "Yeah, well," Tony said, with some reluctance, "I was under a lot of stress."

          Steve placed his hand on Tony's shoulder and gave him an affectionate shake. "Thank you. I was going to get them out one way or another. But I—" For all that Tony could give rise to the most negative aspects of Steve's nature, it seemed he also fostered the most forgiving. A confusion of emotions showed in Tony's unguarded eyes. He was hurting, had been badly hurt. By Steve. "Oh, hell," Steve sighed. He took Tony's face between his hands, ignoring the other man's sudden strong grasp on his forearms, and kissed him. For the briefest of seconds, Tony's lips yielded to the soft pressure—and then he wrenched free.

          "What the hell!" he snarled. He stumbled back against the tree, bristling with outrage and shock.

          Steve stood tall. "So what do we do now?"

          Tony's eyes flashed. "About that?! How about I kick your—?"

          "About Ross," Steve interrupted tiredly. "About the Sokovia Accords. About how we're going to work together again." He was as relaxed and assured as Tony was off balance and wild-eyed. In reality, beneath his calm, he wanted to try that again, but with considerably more cooperation on Tony's part.

          Tony fidgeted from one leg to the other. "There are no easy answers." He glared into the distance. "I explained about your pal—" He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, suddenly distracted. "Did you do that with _him_ , too?" he demanded.

          "No. What did you explain and to who?"

          Tony sucked in air as if he'd taken a blow. "I—I...Ross. I told Ross that Barnes wasn't responsible for his actions. That we'd been set up."

          "Really? And—?"

          Tony sneered. "And what do you think? Didn't make any difference." He lowered his voice to a furious whisper. "You made it worse, you stupid bastard."

          "That's arguable, Tony, as to who made it worse." He gave his head a slow shake. "So, no change."

          Teeth bared, Tony said, "Did you really expect there would be? He's milking this for all it's worth. And he has the power to make your life a living hell. A guy who's taking advantage of families that are pissed off and grieving. Makes for very bad press."

          "And what kind of press would there have been if we hadn't fought back in New York? If you hadn't taken that missile to the Chitauri rather than letting it blow up the entire state? And what would they have said if we'd let Ultron—" It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Tony who was responsible for Ultron, but he bit it back. "—destroy the world? Yes, people died, Tony. Don't think I don't know that. But if we had stood back and done nothing—or waited for the UN to tell us what to do and when to do it, a whole lot more people would have suffered. And died. You can't let men like Ross tell you what to do. You might as well hand over your suits, your cool toys, Stark Tower, Stark Industries. Yourself, for that matter." He had, with admirable control, ignored the blah-blah motion Tony was making with both hands almost the entire time he was venting. Steve heaved a sigh. "Do you agree with him?"

          Tony threw his arms out. "No. Yes." His frustration was almost palpable. "I just don't want to be the boss of the bad stuff."

          Steve nodded. "Just the hero of all things great."

          "Well, sure," he agreed. Belatedly, he seemed to sense the mockery in Steve's words. His eyes filled with fire. "You make my head hurt."

          "It isn't me making your head hurt, Tony." He wanted to fold Tony in his arms, to safeguard him from the horror, the craziness, and the sacrifices of their world. It was a strange feeling, because he preferred Tony as his partner, a man who usually needed protection only from himself. "Why are you here? You still haven't answered that. Not to surveil, you said; not to hunt us down. Then, why?"

          The question seemed to annoy, even exasperate Tony. "Because—" His jaw was tight, muscles working. He seemed to be struggling for an answer. "Because I brought you something?"

          Steve raised his open palms. "Right. What is it?"

          "Just give me a minute here, okay?" Tony visibly steeled himself. His voice was low and firm. "Just remember that this isn't easy for me. But I want to say it."

          Steve schooled his features to openness and calm. Tony looked at him and then looked again sharply, as if perhaps he thought Steve was making fun of him.

          "I—need you. You're good at what you do. You provide—" Steve could almost hear enamel flaking away. "—balance. As much as it kills me to admit it." Tony closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, which he immediately exhaled noisily. "We're a good team." And then, as if he couldn't restrain himself, he added, "Probably because we loathe each other."

          Steve's insides warmed. Tony was one of the most courageous people he knew, but those words would not have come easily even to him. "Maybe," he granted.  "But we balance _each other_ , Tony. And you know I want to help. That's all I'm good at."

          "Yeah. And being a hero. You confused everyone with this Bucky thing." Tony scowled. "Bucky, who you _really_ don't...?"

          From the sound of it, Tony wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask. So Steve answered as if he understood. "I don't make it a habit, no."

          "Steve—"

          "I'm going to make you angry again, but I'd like to know: how's Colonel Rhodes?"

          Tony's hands moved in a complicated design. Had Tony been a magician, Steve thought, Rhodes would be standing whole and hale in front of him. "Stark tech is helping, but nobody can rebuild his spine."

          Steve grimaced. "I wish it hadn't happened."

          "Yeah. So say we all." He prowled a few steps out, closer to the edge, then a few steps back. "He doesn't regret it. No matter how this plays out, he believes he did the right thing." And then, with a dip of his head, Tony added judiciously, "Maybe." Tony's circuit tightened, and Steve was at its center.

          "He's military," Steve said bluntly. "He—" His words were taken by Tony's mouth, hard, demanding. Steve moved right into Tony's kiss, gripping his shoulders to keep him close. It was a moment of exquisite sensation: Tony's lips, hot and wanting; the bruising grasp of his hands on Steve's forearms; the unholy and encompassing warmth of him.

          Tony broke away first, his gaze smoldering, his face flushed. "Yeah. That. That's part of why I'm here. But you already guessed that, didn't—?"

          "Do it again," Steve said hoarsely, "and I might loathe you a little less."

          The tension left Tony's face. He slowly nodded in agreement. "Something we have to work on. When we have time." But then he yanked Steve close again. Against Steve's parted lips, he murmured, "Just once more." Steve lost himself in Tony's embrace. How often he had dreamed of this, in those moments at night alone, the dark a solid thing around him. The reality, of course, was electrifyingly better. To experience the lusciousness of Tony's kiss, the intimacy of his touch, went far beyond anything his imagination could conjure.

          It ended with a moment of simple physical comfort, held close in each other's arms, cheek to cheek. Steve heard Tony swallow and did not try to restrain him when he ran his hands down Steve's arms, separating them by a half step. Tony gestured in the direction of his plane. "I really hate to say it, but I have to leave now." He made a helpless gesture. "There're, you know, things I have to do. People expecting to hear from me, and of course I'm late. You know, from being tied up."

          Steve reveled in the affectionate reproof glinting in Tony's eyes. He didn't want to let him go, but he understood responsibility better than most. "Okay," he said, as unemotionally as he could.

          "Come up with some ideas for me," Tony said, almost pleadingly. "Find me a way out of this mess."

          Steve folded his arms across his chest; if he didn't, he'd be reaching for Tony again. "I'll do my best."

          Tony gave him a long, lingering look, then half-turned toward the clearing. He took two steps before pivoting back. "Almost forgot." His hand sliced into his jeans pocket and came out with a small dark rectangle, scarcely larger than a matchbox. He tossed it to Steve. "Use this when you want to talk."

          "Not a POS?" Steve asked, snagging the tiny device out of the air.

          "Of course not," Tony said with signature arrogance. "Stark tech, remember?"

          "Right."

          And yet Tony hesitated. He bit his lip, seemingly uncertain, troubled. "Why didn't you take it?" He pointed vaguely in the direction of the jet. "I've had it with me every time I've come here. You could have helped yourself."

          "That's what you really meant when you said you'd brought me something, wasn't it," Steve said wryly.

          Tony inclined his head. "Well, other than me, yeah." He pulled his shoulders back, as if readying himself for a blow. "It's yours. Those things I said in Siberia, Steve, all those things—"

          Steve raised a hand. Tony fell silent, but his face was ashen. Steve offered a gentle smile. Seeing the shield in Tony's jet had reminded him how much his life had changed, and what he'd had to sacrifice. Not just his country, so many of his friends, his mission; but also a thing that had in many ways come to define him. To say he didn't want it— _his_ shield—would be to lie. But Steve Rogers was nothing if not practical. In a tone as gentle as his expression, he stated, "Like you said before, it doesn't belong to me." Before Tony could object—and all the indications were there that he would—he went on, "T'Challa's scientists made me a new one; better, they say. They gave it to me as a gift. No one's going to take that one away."

          Tony's shoulders slumped. "Steve, I'm—"

          "Thank you," Steve said with great tenderness, putting everything he felt into his voice. "For bringing it. It means a lot."

          Tony turned his head away for a second, then looked back, his eyes bright. "Yeah. Okay." He summoned a weak grin. "I'll have it put in the museum. You'll always have a backup."

          "Good idea." Time was pressing and Steve knew he should let Tony go. But he spoke Tony's name and in an instant Tony was in his arms. Amid a tangle of limbs and slow, urgent kisses, they allowed themselves only a few moments before drawing apart. "Go," Steve said harshly, half holding onto and half pushing Tony away. "Or I swear to God, Tony—"

          "You don't swear," Tony said breathlessly, and stumbled a step then two back in the direction they had come, a mad grin on his lips. "Going. Damn it."

          Steve's hands were fists at his sides. He nodded solemnly. "Fly safe, Tony."

          Tony jerked his head once. "Always do." He spun on his heel and loped into the mist and the shadows beneath the trees. Steve could hear his mumbled curses receding into the distance.

          Moments later, as Steve retrieved the rope and blade from the clearing, absently studying the markings on the ground, he detected the quiet vibration and whine of the quinjet's engines. He pulled out the ridiculously small device and studied it. There did not appear to be any sort of controls. He chose the most direct way he could think of to activate it and said, "Tony?"

          "I'm here."

          A slow, delighted smile crossed Steve's face. "Just checking," he said.

          There came a soft sound; a breath, perhaps, or a sigh. "Love you, too, you big lug. Now leave me alone. I'm busy."

          Steve whispered, "Roger that." He closed his hand around the device, a small precious thing.

          It was time to start planning.

 * * *


End file.
